


Care

by ttfan111robstar1



Series: Baby Bird [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Fluff, Gen, Love, Non-Sexual Age Play, Original Story In A Story, Sickfic, slipping into headspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23050090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ttfan111robstar1/pseuds/ttfan111robstar1
Summary: When Dick gets sick, he slips into his headspace and calls his Daddy who is- incidentally- on patrol.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Series: Baby Bird [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656484
Comments: 2
Kudos: 137





	Care

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for making "Forever Now" such a hit! The most Kudos I've ever gotten on any fic on this site! It was really heartwarming. Thank y'all.
> 
> The story within this story is one of my own creation and may not be used without my express written permission.
> 
> Enjoy!

Batman had been out on patrol when it had happened.

It was a busy night tonight. The Joker and Harley Quinn along with The Penguin and The Riddler were just a few of the criminals who had escaped from Arkham during a mass breakout. He’d made sure he went after The Joker first, to be sure that he was out of the way and unable to cause mass panic. The other escapees weren’t nearly as worrying to him. He’d breathed a little easier after that, and rounded up The Riddler with practiced ease. He had been on his way to The Penguin when there was a sound, coming from his belt. He shifted the batmobile into auto drive, and pulled the ringing device from his belt. It was his communicatior, linked with Nightwing. It was easier and safer to speak that way than using a cell phone, and a good way to communicate on the job if necessary to get back up.

He opened it. “Nightwing? Report.” He said in his usual monotone.

The answer he got back was not what he’d expected.

“Daddy?”

A soft, whimpering voice came over the line. Mercifully he had turned the car to auto drive or he might have gotten into an accident from his shock.

It had been a few months since Dick Grayson had learned that Bruce knew of his unusual method of de-stressing, and Bruce had cared for him. In that time, though it hadn’t happened again, the two of them had become closer in some unexplainable way. Nothing had changed in their actions or mannerisms, both civilian and superhero, and yet that sense of a strengthened bond between them remained. They’d seen one another multiple times since, and not once had they spoken about that night. They hadn’t had to. It had been an unspoken conversation that ended with Dick knowing that if he needed him in that state, Bruce would be there. That was really all there was to say about it. Now, perhaps, was the time he was being called upon. Not a good time, certainly, but a time all the same.

Batman- no, _Bruce_ struggled to come out to speak to his son. When the cowl was up, he was Batman, period, so trying to get his civilian self to come out in his tone was a bit challenging. But for Dick, he managed it.

“Dickie?” It was soft, gentle. It was a voice he hadn’t even known he’d had until Dick had come into Wayne Manor all those years ago. “What’s wrong?”

“Daddy, ‘m sick. Can’t... Can’t move me. Daddy help?” Came the pitiful query.

Normally, this would not be an issue. Normally he could have sent Alfred to Dick to help him, and go back onto patrol. Easy. Simple. Done. But this was not a normal circumstance. He had to choose between being Batman or being there for his son.

It really wasn’t a choice at all.

“Okay, Chum. Daddy’s coming. I’ll be there in about half an hour, okay?”

“‘Kay, Daddy.”

“Do you need Daddy to get you anything before he comes? Medicine or food?”

“Nuh-Uh. Just Daddy.”

Batman smiled. “Okay, kiddo. I’m on my way.”

“‘Kay.”

The transmission ended.

Batman quickly punched in the coordinates for Dick’s apartment, before stopping the car in an empty parking garage momentarily so the outside of the car could be shifted and so he could change clothes. The camouflage feature really was a good addition. He changed into a pair of civilian clothes he kept in the back for emergencies like these, then he restarted the car and got Alfred on the phone.

His trusty butler, of course, answered immediately, though his expression was understandably confused at the lack of costume and cowl. “Sir? Is something the matter?”

“I need you to call the JLA and get some of them down here to take over for me.”

“Master Bruce?”

“Dick is sick and needs me. I’m on my way to him now. Don’t tell the league. Just... Say I got some emergency call about a theft at one of my buildings or something.”

“As you wish, Master Bruce. After I’ve done so would you like me to join you?”

Bruce had to actually think on that for a moment. It would be good to have Alfred there to help and support Dick, but at the same time somebody had to watch over Gotham, not to mention he wasn’t entirely sure if Dick would be alright with Alfred seeing him in this state- though he had no doubt the man knew about that part of Dick just as he had.

He sighed. “When patrol is over call me and I’ll see if Dick is stable enough to handle it. If he has a fever, you know he can get delirious or paranoid. I don’t want him thinking he’ll kill you if you get too close to him or something.” Bruce said. It wasn’t technically a lie. Dick did occasionally get a high enough fever for delirium to be a concern, and he was concerned with Dick’s stability- just not in that way.

If Alfred caught onto that, he never showed it. Instead, he simply nodded. “I shall call when it is time.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Send my well wishes to Master Dick, if you would.”

Bruce gave a faint smile. “I will.”

With that, he terminated the call, took the batmobile out of auto drive, and sped faster than a bullet toward his son.

* * *

Dick had been lying on the couch for what felt like years. Huddled under massive amounts of blankets, he was still freezing cold. A box of tissues sat on the coffee table within arm’s reach, and the small trash bin beside it was overflowing with used tissues. Three full bottles of water were next to it, but were unopened because he feared not being able to keep it down. Nestled right next to the couch in alignment with his head was a bucket he’d been using to get sick in because he couldn’t move from the couch without excruciating muscle aches that nearly made him wish he’d never been born. He was used to being a little sore when it came to hero work, but that on top of the usual aches that came with being sick were nearly unbearable.

Normally when he was sick Dick did not enter his headspace. He’d take it easy, rest a few days, be good to himself, and be back up and running in no time. But today, when he hadn’t been able to keep any fluids down, and had found himself unable to move from the couch, he’d understood he needed help. He had been planning to call Bruce after his patrol, but after vomiting pure acid that stung his throat and nose and burned like a raging fire, he’d lost any sense of composure he’d once held, and slipped into his headspace. He was freezing cold and hurt all over and couldn’t eat or drink anything and he just wanted Daddy! He’d cried for a while after that. Wallowing in his own emotions wasn’t exactly his style, but he had to let out his misery before he talked to Daddy. He didn’t want to be sad when Daddy came.

After the call, Dick had stared at the TV, not really seeing what was on, and just... Waited. Waited for Daddy to come and fix it. There really wasn’t much else he could do than that, anyways.

Bruce arrived, and got to Dick’s apartment in record time. Parking his car, he flew up the steps of Dick’s fire escape to Dick’s window. It was, as predicted, open. He jumped inside, barely remembering to shut it, and was about to go find his son, when he smelt it.

The entire apartment stunk of sweat and the sour smell of vomit, Even though he hadn’t seen his son yet, there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that Dick was seriously ill. The reminder got him moving again, though he wrinkled his nose at the stench. He tried reminding himself that the sewers Killer Croc liked to frequent were far worse than this. It helped.

When he saw Dick wasn’t in his room, he rounded the corner to the living room to see a pitiful sight before him.

Dick was huddled under enough blankets to cover a house, yet he was shivering and shaking as though someone had tossed him into the Antarctic. His nose was red and chapped looking, accentuated by the ghostly pallor of his skin that was tinged just a bit green. But the worst of it was the look in Dick’s eyes. The miserable, lonely despair that Bruce hadn’t seen in years. It twisted something deep inside to see it now. It was as though it thought no one was going to come for him.

Bruce moves into his son’s line of sight. “Hey there, Dickie Bird.” The words were gentle and soft, so not to startle him.

Dick reacted immediately upon seeing Bruce. The hopeless despair vanished from his eyes, and was replaced by a beatific smile that seemed to have the power to light the whole world.

“Daddy!” It was somehow both happy and desperate at the same time. Dick reached for him, and Bruce gave him a hug and kiss, before Dick dissolved into sobs.

Bruce immediately held him close. He had to stop himself from picking Dick up and bouncing him while walking around the room as he was wont to do, for fear of making Dick more ill. Instead, he rubbed his son’s back soothingly.

“Hey now, what’s all this? Hmmm?” Bruce asked.

Dick couldn’t answer, because even he didn’t know completely. He was happy Daddy was here but he still felt awful and wanted it all to stop and he couldn’t make sense of it all, so tears came out instead.

Bruce just held him and hushed him. Dick was covered in sweat, and he grimaced at that, if only because it couldn’t have been comfortable. First thing on the agenda would have to be a bath. Well, after Dick was calm, that is. After a little while, Dick’s cries faded, and Bruce pulled back to wipe his tears away.

“That’s better.” Bruce gave him a small smile. “Now, how about a bath, chum? I think it will be nice, hmm?”

Dick gave a small nod, and Bruce carefully- cautiously- lifted him up to carry him to the bathroom. Mercifully they made it there without incident. Bruce gently sat him down on the toilet seat and turned on the water to the bathtub before he helped Dick out from his clothes. Modesty tended to go by the wayside in a family that dealt with bullet wounds and gashes on a daily basis. He left just long enough to grab a towel and some clothes for Dick to change into, and to move the bucket Dick had been using from the living room to the bedroom in case of emergency, before he went back in. He checked Dick’s temperature with a thermometer, and found it to be 101.3. He grimaced internally at that, and would need to get some medicine into him soon.

When the bath was full and tempered properly to not aggravate his fever, Bruce helped Dick inside, and began to bathe him for the first time in what felt like forever. It was a strangely intimate thing. He’d done it often when Dick had been young, and in later years only when he was too injured to care for himself properly. It always ended up being a connecting thing for the both of them. They always tended to share or reveal things during that time. This time was slightly different in that it wasn’t sharing or revealing, but rather just being together in a new way.

Dick was practically boneless in the water with Bruce holding him up for the most part. Bruce didn’t mind, however. He was used to it. He’d bathed his son like this plenty of times before, although admittedly he hadn’t had to use as much strength as he did now, considering Dick was practically deadweight at this point. Still, it didn’t stop him from quietly enjoying the moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to do this without dire circumstances being involved. It was a nice change.

Dick had to fight hard to keep his eyes open. The water felt nice on his aching body and Daddy’s presence was so calming it was hard to not sleep. He kept his eyes open, though, because he didn’t want to forget this feeling. The feeling that everything was going to be okay. With everything he’d been through, it was a rare feeling to have, and he wanted to savor it for all it was worth.

Soon, the bath was done. Bruce was quick and efficient, fearing Dick might get sick again.  
  
“Dickie, can you sit up for me?” He asked quietly.

Dick let out a soft whine. He didn’t want to move.

“I know, but once we get you dried off and dressed you can sleep for as long as you want. Okay?” He would have to give Dick some medicine later. If he tried now it would only end in a fight, and Dick was in no state for that.  
  
Dick grumbled, then sat up, and Bruce was able to drain the tub. He was so involved with his task he nearly missed Dick’s soft whimper. Immediately, he turned to him.  
  
“Dick?”  
  
Dick reached out his arms to Bruce. “I want hold me.” Came the soft, teary eyed plea.  
  
Bruce blinked. Then: “Let’s get you dried off and dressed and then I will, alright?”

Dick looked a little crestfallen, but nodded.

Grabbing a towel, he wrapped his son in it before he helped him out of the tub. Then, he dried him off, and helped him dress. Then, keeping his word, he carefully picked his son up and held him. Dick reacted instantaneously, snuggling deeper into him and giving a deep sigh of relief. Finally, he was exactly where he wanted to be.  
  
Bruce couldn’t help smiling a bit at that. It felt good to know that after all these years he could still give Dick comfort. “Let’s get you to bed, Chum.”  
  
Dick’s grip on his father’s shirt tightened, and his body tensed, letting out a whimper. “No.”  
  
Bruce blinked. “No?”  
  
Dick shook his head. “No bed.”  
  
“You need to sleep, Dickie.”  
  
His face screwed up, and he started to cry. “Nooooo.”  
  
Bruce immediately began rubbing his back. “Calm down, Dickie. Daddy’s not leaving you. Daddy just wants you to get some sleep. That’s all. Calm down, baby bird."  
  
Dick froze in surprise, crying forgotten, as did Bruce. He hadn’t called Dick that in years. Not since they’d stopped reading before bed. Bruce was surprised it had even come out. He hadn’t been thinking of it at all. It just… Slipped out. Dick looked up at him, surprised but apparently pleased.

“Daddy?” Came the soft query. Bruce sat down on Dick’s bed, holding him in his lap.  
  
“What is it, chum?"  
  
“Read me?” Dick asked. Bruce remembered him asking for stories like that when he was still struggling with his English.

“You want a story?” Bruce asked.

Dick nodded, slipping his thumb into his mouth.

There was only one story from Dick’s childhood that Bruce knew by heart, and it was the one that inspired that old nickname. Dick hadn’t taken it badly, however. Hopefully it would be okay.  
  
“Alright.” Bruce acquiesced, then adjusted both of their positions so that Dick had his head on the pillow. “Bedtime For Baby Bird.” He said, and then began the story.

_Once upon a time there were some birdies in a nest_

_And when night had fallen on their tree it was finally time to rest_

_The mama bird tucked each one into bed so they could sleep_

_Wishing them a goodnight with a single little peep._

_The youngest of her chicks was wide awake and wanted to play_

_He didn’t want to sleep and make his fun day go away._

_“I want to stay up!” The baby bird said._

_“I know.” Said Mama, “But it’s time for bed.”_

_“How can I sleep when there’s things to play?”_

_“You’ll sleep if you promise to do them another day.”_

_“Will you sing?” Asked baby bird. “I like your song.”_

_“If you want me to I’ll sing to you all night long.”_

_The baby bird settled down into his bed_

_As the moon rose up over his head._

_As his Mama sang and put him at rest,_

_She smiled because her babies were the best._

_Before she went to bed without making a peep_

_She whispered, “Goodnight. I love you. Now let’s all get some sleep.”_

By the story’s end, Dick was fast asleep. Bruce smiled at that. The story always ended up putting him to sleep. He pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead, both as a gesture to say goodnight and to see how high his fever was. Still warm, but not warm _er_ , which was good. He almost wanted to join his son in sleep but knew he had to wait for Alfred’s call. Alfred- he’d forgotten to ask Dick about that in all the initial commotion. He cursed silently under his breath. He could only hope that Dick would either awaken before he had to make that decision himself, or that the one he made would not be one that would arouse Dick’s anger.

Fortunately- or rather, unfortunately for Dick- He woke up almost an hour later and promptly threw up. Thankfully, it was in the bucket that rested close to Bruce’s feet.

Dick looked like he was about to cry again, and Bruce promptly began comforting him.  
  
“It’s alright, Dickie Bird. That wasn't a very good way to wake up, huh, chum?” He soothed, rubbing his son’s back.

It took Dick a moment to realize that Daddy was there, but when he did, he slumped into him. Bruce took that as a good sign, at least. He hadn’t startled him, and that was good.

“How about we get some water, huh, kiddo? Get that bad taste out of your mouth.” He said.

Dick gave a tired nod. He just wanted to sleep.  
  
Bruce carried him carefully to the living room where one of the water bottles was. Maybe if he was lucky he could get a couple of fever reducers into his son. Mercifully, Dick was nearly asleep again so he had time to grab a couple of Tylenol before he woke him again.

“Dickie? Dickie?” He said gently. Dick opened bleary eyes to him.  
  
“Let’s get that bad taste out of your mouth, huh buddy?” He said, offering the water bottle.

Dick made a face at that. “B’ttle.” He murmured.  
  
“You want it in a bottle instead?” Bruce asked. He mentally kicked himself for not having thought of that sooner. It would make less of a mess, too if Dick couldn’t quite get it down.

Dick nodded.  
  
“Where’s your bottle, Dickie?”  
  
He pointed to the nightstand. Bruce maneuvered Dick carefully in his lap to be able to open it, and found Zitka, a pacifier, and a bottle inside. He handed Dick the elephant first, knowing he’d want the comfort. Dick immediately latched onto his comfort object and sniffled. He really didn’t feel good.  
  
“Daddy’s going to let go of you for a second, Dickie.” He said. At the alarm immediately apparent in his Dick’s eyes, he was quick to soothe him. “Daddy’s not putting you down, buddy. Daddy just needs his hands so he can fill your bottle, okay?”  
  
Dick wasn’t entirely sure it was okay, but nodded because he wanted to get the bad taste out of his mouth.

Bruce carefully slid his arms out from under his boy and immediately worked to fill the bottle up. He knew it was clean already, considering he himself had cleaned it the last time he had been here. When the nipple was screwed on, he got one arm under his son. “Okay, kiddo. Time for a drink."  
  
Dick opened up his mouth and suckled tentatively at the bottle. He was still worried he wouldn’t be able to keep it down, but he had to try. He took a few small sips of the water- warm by now, which was not good, and then stopped.  
  
“Better?”

He heard Daddy’s voice above him and nodded.

“Good.” Bruce was mildly relieved at that. Then, he decided to ask about Alfred. “Dickie?” Dick’s tired eyes moved to him. “Is it okay if Alfred comes to help? I think if you ask nicely he’ll make your favorite chicken noodle soup.” He said, hoping to make it sound good to him. He knew he couldn’t cook for the life of him, and in this state Dick wouldn’t be able to either. He needed somebody to help with that if nothing else.

Dick screwed up his face in thought. Alfie did make very good soup. But… Did he want Alfie to know? He hadn’t even wanted Daddy to know, and Daddy was _Daddy_. But… Daddy had found out and it was okay, so maybe Alfie would be okay too.

“O-Okie Daddy. Alfie come.” He said quietly.

“Okay.” Bruce wrapped him in a hug, and Dick relaxed again. “Can you try taking some medicine for Daddy, buddy?” He asked gently, holding out the two Tylenol. “You can sleep as much as you want after. Daddy just wants to make sure you don’t get worse, okay?"  
  
Dick nodded his head determinedly. He could do that. Plus it wasn’t yucky cough medicine, so that made it better.

Bruce handed him the tylenol, and then watched as he put them in his mouth before he brought the bottle to his son’s lips. A few suckles later, they were down. Bruce breathed a sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding back. He set the bottle on the nightstand.  
  
“Good boy, Dickie. You can go to sleep now.” He said.

Not another word needed to be said, and Dick was back to sleep in seconds.

It was maybe a half an hour later that he got the call he’d been waiting for. Patrol was done and Alfred was waiting for his notice if he could come. Bruce had said yes in hushed whispers, and asked him to bring ingredients for chicken soup with him. Alfred had, of course, complied.

Alfred, when he arrived an hour later, used the front door. Dick had given him a key in case of emergency. He was really the only one who used it. Bruce had a key, but he usually used the window during his few and far between visits since he was typically getting back from his time as The Batman. He put the ingredients for the soup in Dick’s fridge, unsure if his masters wanted him to prepare it yet, before he went to find them.

He found a sight that warmed his heart.

Dick was asleep in Bruce’s lap, cradled in Bruce’s strong arms, cuddling his old stuffed elephant as Bruce looked on fondly. A faint smile hinted at Alfred’s lips.

As though the action were audible, or perhaps because he had the senses of the bat for which he was named, Bruce looked up, and they had a silent conversation.

At the end of it, Alfred left to prepare the soup, and Bruce stayed with Dick. Alfred, being a bat himself, made virtually no noise in the kitchen as he effortlessly chopped vegetables, set water to boil, and added noodles, chicken, spices, and vegetables to the pot. It only took a fraction of his concentration. When the soup was boiling on low, Alfred immediately and instinctively set to cleaning. The apartment was, by his standards, filthy. Seeing as Dick had been too ill to do much about it, he was ready to step in and step up.

As Alfred cleaned, Bruce simply watched Dick sleep. It was something he’d done often when Dick was a child. If he couldn’t get to sleep himself, he used to watch Dick sleep. It was partly to watch for nightmares, but mostly it was to give himself a bit of peace. So much of what he saw in the world was darkness, but Dick was a reminder to him that there was still light in people. He needed the reminder to himself that the world could still be a good place. Even when it was unfair, even when it tore families apart, it could still bring some good.

Now, Dick’s breathing was a bit snuffled. Occasionally Bruce would wipe his nose, keeping him as clean as he was able. Mostly, though, he just watched over his son, silently protecting him in sleep. When Dick did awaken the next time, it was mercifully to the beat of his own drum and not that of his rebelling stomach. When he caught sight of Bruce’s bright blue eyes looking at him, he smiled and let out an involuntary coo, snuggling further into Daddy.

Bruce began stroking his hair instinctually. “Hey kiddo. How are you feeling, hmm?”  
  
Dick let out a grumble, not feeling inclined to answer. He just patted Daddy’s chest and sighed softly.

“Come on, Dickie. I need to take your temperature now. And afterward, you can go see Alfred.” Bruce cajoled.

Dick peeked out from Bruce at the mention. “Alfie?”  
  
Bruce nodded. “He got here while you were sleeping, and if I’m right, I think he’s making soup.”  
  
Dick’s face brightened immeasurably. He wiggled just a bit in happiness, then stopped when his stomach protested.  
  
“Let’s get your temperature, okay?” Bruce asked.

Dick nodded, and was hoisted up in Daddy’s arms to be carried to the bathroom. Bruce got out the thermometer, and slipped it under Dick’s tongue. When it beeped, he pulled it out. 100.6. It wasn’t good, but it was a step in the right direction. He made a mental note to give Dick a couple more tylenol in a few hours.

“100.6. It’s going down.” He smiled. “Now then, are you ready to see what Alfred is up to?”  
  
At Dick’s nod, he ventured out to see what his trusty butler had gotten up to. When he went to the living room, it was spotless. Figured. He went to the kitchen, where Alfred was stirring a pot of delicious smelling soup.

Alfred turned, sensing the presence of his charge, and smiled softly. “The soup is nearly ready, sirs.”  
  
If he felt anything amiss between his bosses, he never showed it. Bruce hadn’t asked Alfred if he knew about this part of Dick, but somehow he got the sense that Alfred had caught onto this around the time he had. Alfred, to his credit, was stoic as ever in the face of this.

“Do you think you’re ready to try and eat something, kiddo?” His voice was gentle.

Dick had to think about that for a minute. He really didn’t want to risk that but at the same time he knew he needed to eat something. And he _had_ kept the water down. Maybe if he ate slowly it would be okay.

“‘Kay, Daddy.” He said softly.

“Okay.” Bruce said gently, and carried Dick to the couch to hold him. He got a feeling that if he tried to set Dick down at this point it would be one big meltdown. Dick seemed content to sit quietly with him, the way he’d used to after the end of a nightmare. Those quiet moments of reflection were always good. Bruce enjoyed the silent bonding as much as Dick did. He wasn’t the best at expressing his feelings, so he tended to use silence as a medium for his feelings. For the moment, they were both saying the same thing:  
  
_I’m here._

Alfred poked his head into the living room. “Dinner, sirs.”  
  
Bruce stood up, carried Dick to the kitchen, and set him in his lap. Though Dick was nonplussed about not being completely held, the promise of food was enough to calm him. He really was hungry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something.

Bruce ignored Alfred’s scowl at their position at the table (He’d known it was coming- Alfred was always a stickler for table manners), and began to feed his son. Dick hadn’t asked, but he didn’t have to. Bruce knew he would have had to do that anyways to minimize the mess. Dick still shivered badly and he didn’t trust him to hold a spoon and keep himself clean. Besides, he thought Dick might have wanted that in his headspace anyways.

Dick happily accepted the spoonful of soup. Alfie’s chicken noodle soup always tasted like his Mommy’s, and it was comforting. Daddy feeding him added to that, and so did Alfie’s presence. He ate nearly half the bowl before he decided to stop. He didn’t want to push it. When Bruce tried to feed him another spoonful, he turned his face away. Bruce knew better than to push it, and instead started to eat his own bowl. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until then.

Alfred cleaned the kitchen afterward, and Bruce took Dick back to his bedroom. His arms were nearly numb from holding his son for such a long time, but he didn’t let go. He feared Dick’s reaction too much. Dick had never been one for tantrums, but when they occasionally did happen, he made himself _heard_. The first time Bruce hadn’t let Dick go on patrol because he hadn’t done his homework, Dick had shrieked so loudly he was sure the chandelier in the study rattled with the force of the scream. A two hour tantrum complete with screaming, kicking, yelling, door slamming, and one shattered glass had ended with Bruce going on patrol and Dick giving him the silent treatment for three days straight. Bruce had learned that day that Dick could absolutely hold a grudge, and with him in this vulnerable state he’d be an idiot to risk that now.

Dick was snoring lightly on his chest now, the food and inherent exhaustion from his illness. In a few hours Bruce would have to wake him to have him take a few more Tylenol and hopefully eat and drink a bit, but for now, he was ready to sleep. He maneuvered Dick in his arms so that he was still holding him, but they could both lay down. He knew that when tomorrow came he’d have to worry about calling into work to take the day off, getting the League to take over his patrol in Gotham for a few days, and of course taking care of Dick. He probably should have minded sleeping next to his son when he was so ill, but he didn’t have it in him to care. If he got sick, that was that. He’d deal with it when it came. But for now, he was ready for bed.

He made sure Dick was comfortable, and then, he finally let his eyes shut for the night.  
  



End file.
